


Risque

by Eoraptor



Category: Kim Possible (Cartoon)
Genre: Burlesque, Community: Kim Possible Slash Haven, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 22:56:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4156119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eoraptor/pseuds/Eoraptor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A girl's got to make some money... sometimes that happens in ways you don't expect, and the consequences can be eye opening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Risque

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Author suggests Rated R, or a very strict T for Teen for sexual content and language.

“Gentlemen and ladies, please welcome back to the stage, The Incredible Lynne Vincible!”

 

The redhead made her way out onto the forefront of the stage, smiling her best world-beating smile at the assembled audience in the small club. She’d chosen her green sequined gown for the evening. It was making her eyeshadow pop and her red hair blaze all that much more brightly in the intimate atmosphere and she knew it.

 

Sweeping the loose thigh-slit to one side, she sat down at the bench of the immaculate baby grand piano and struck a few keys lightly, “How’s everyone doing this evening?”

 

There were a couple of good natured chuckles and generally affirmative responses, but nothing she could latch on to. The audience wasn’t here to have a conversation with her, she knew; though some of them certainly wished, she imagined.

 

“Well that’s good to hear, there’s certainly enough ugliness in the world to go around,” she smiled again, the random chords on the piano slowly solidifying into something more melodious. “For instance, I heard tell that Professor Heinz Dementor is back to his old tricks. Fleas the size of softballs on Dachshunds the size of a city bus? Heavens knows that would make me think twice about trying to confront him.”

 

She punctuated the quip with a musical sting and chuckled along with her audience.

 

“And then there’s that new Alien Ambassador from Lorwardia, am I right? Now don’t get me wrong, I’m pleased as punch that the big green lugs decided that we weren’t worth the effort to conquer… but they brought back shoulder pads… Hello? 1986 called, they want their fashion blunders back.”

 

That one fell a bit flat. She felt the crowd cool a bit towards the act. Shaking her head, she began playing more in earnest, “Ah, but what are you going to do, am I right? If it’s not mad dogs and aliens, it’s mercenaries in Spandex. Takes a brave women to wear something that shows off the air temperature every time she walks into a room.”

 

The stunning redhead slid smoothly off of the piano bench, and another woman took her place without losing the rhythm of the musical accompaniment. The small crowd applauded the deft coordination and anticipated the act they knew was just beginning.

 

“After all, even if she can warm up a room to prevent giving the boys a show, what about visible panty line? I can only assume that, with an outfit like hers, she must not be resorting to the normal undergarments.” Considering one long black opera glove, the performer flicked some imagined dust from her fingers.

 

“But why are we talking about her, hmm?” she continued as if refocusing on her audience, “After all, after that photo spread hit the interweb, I think we all know what she’s thinking… though, hmmm, interesting choice of grooming.”

 

“Although personally, I always preferred something… simpler.” The ginger gave a quick sway of her hips to punctuate the delivery as she began to move about the small stage. There were a few chuckles from her spectators as she strode around.

 

She smiled as she felt the energy in the crowd shift a bit. “Now don’t get me wrong… I can appreciate going bare as much as the next girl… thank you boys, but please keep your hooting down, As much bare as the next girl…. But hey, a girl has to keep some secrets, and that includes how well maintained the carpeting is.”

 

She grinned to herself. The rowdy guys who hollered at the bawdy turn of her act quickly quieted down, demonstrating that she had the listeners wrapped around her finger now.

 

“Now, speaking of housekeeping,” She chuckled as the listeners moved to follow her smoothly flowing act from one topic to the next, “Have you heard the latest from Global Justice?”

 

She watched the crowd and began to peel off one of the long opera gloves, tugging loose each finger before beginning to roll the long velveteen glove down her lithe arm, exposing rich peach skin and just a few freckles, “I guess they had a problem with bugs… But tell you the truth, I’d almost rather have heard dangerous international political intrigue or mediocre policy wonking than that pretty boy Will Du enjoying… well whatever it was that he was begging for more of.”

 

Again the chuckles from her mostly male onlookers, though this time the few women in the small crowd also chimed in with their amusement at the recently leaked audio recordings. The redhead laid her long glove atop the piano, watching the eyes of her spectators as she began with the other hand, carefully plucking each finger before rolling it low. This time she left it bunched around her wrist; a calculated tease for her onlookers.

 

“You know, I met Will once…” She smiled wickedly at the audience eating up her act, “I think I can say with confidence that whatever he was doing involved stick removal… at least, I sure hope it did. I would hate to think they were pushing that thing further in.”

 

Those in the intimate setting who knew the supposed super-agent’s reputation snorted and chuckled as the performer strode the stage, again punctuating her observation with a sway of her hips and round backside.

 

“But, then that’s how it always is in life and love isn’t it?” She smiled darkly to her onlookers as she leaned back against the slowly rolling piano, “It’s all about sticks… whether it’s sticking things in places they shouldn’t go, yeah you know what I mean, or it’s about sticking together… there’s always a stick in there somewhere.”

 

With that she picked up an old fashioned wand-microphone from atop the piano, clutching it in her ungloved hand and promising the audience that they would have to wait to see the other glove removed. The music rolling from her partner at the piano solidified into a familiar smoky jazz staple, and somewhere in the back of the stage, a small band joined in to a spattering clapping as “Lynne” launched into a rendition of “Stick With You.”

 

The audience approved if the applause and the minor hoots she got as she began were any indication.

 

Singing the song with its known lyrics left the redhead time to think as she serenaded her listeners. If you’d told her a year ago that she’d be singing seductive songs in clingy dresses that might not stay on through the whole act; she’d have told you to go see her mother and get checked for head trauma.

 

If you’d have told her she’d make a thousand dollars or more a night doing it and be a headline performer under an assumed name, she’d be sure you were an enemy agent trying to unbalance her and get her to change careers.

 

Kim was living in a hotel in Upperton as the family house was rebuilt, trying to figure out where her life was going to go. Most of the colleges she wanted to attend had been damaged or closed in the wake of the Alien Invasion surrounding her high school graduation. Those that weren’t were pretty far below her radar, or not equipped to handle the sorts of mayhem she might bring to them with her name and notoriety.

She got along fairly well on charity and tit-for-tat through the summer and in to the autumn. No one was going to let world heroine Kim Possible sleep in the street or go hungry after all; and even her own nonchalance about not taking rewards or remuneration was cowed in the face of the few alternatives. Ron was a bit better off. Thankfully few people had directly seen his alien-wrestling act in the middle of the battlefield, and so he went into seclusion at Yamanouchi to learn about the nature of his powers and their history.

 

That freed her up from having to watch over him in the media chaos that followed graduation but quickly abated as she demurred that she was far too busy to give interviews and then dragging a few reporters along with her on missions to prove the point.

 

But food and shelter was not her only concerns following graduation from high school. While she would accept a roof over her head for the option of camping out long term in what was essentially a high tech tent, she was not about to let anyone pay for her clothes, or jewelry, or oil for the Sloth, or foundation crème to hide the more than occasional bruises.

 

Her parents could no longer help her, as all their savings were going in to fixing the house; and helping to fix the Hospital and the Space Center. And really, she was supposed to be an adult and a high school graduate, Salutitory, Suma Cum Laude, and nearly Valedictory, so she should be taking care of herself any way.

 

A friend of a friend, Cocoa Banana commented to her that she could make a lot of money off of her face and body modeling haute couture. Kim definitely didn’t like the idea of being a living clothes rack after spending five minutes as one during senior year. Martin Smarty, recalling her turn on American Star Maker, commented that she also had a great voice, and since people already knew her face, why didn’t she give acting or singing a try? MC Honey wasn’t quite so enthusiastic about the idea of Kim Possible horning on her own burgeoning singing or action-star acting career, but she did have a better suggestion of her own…

 

It was a very nice hotel she was staying it, it seemed; all these rich people giving her advice.

 

Honey suggested she could do a little show work on the DL. Even suggested a place she could try, a semi-private club in Upperton.

 

When Kim walked in, she was met with a rather statuesque blonde parading around the stage in nothing more than some scandalous lingerie. It was only one hundred and thirty pounds of M.C. Honey plus her handler standing behind her that kept the redhead from walking back out. Kim protested that she was NOT becoming a stripper to make ends meet; that she was raised a hell of a lot better than that.

 

Honey made her sit there and take in the show however. It took about an hour for the redhead’s righteous indignation to cool enough for her to reexamine what she was seeing. Yes many of these women, and a few men, were seductively and scantily dressed and undressed… but this wasn’t a seedy strip club with smoke-filled air and flashing lights.

 

Kim was introduced to the term “Burlesque” that day. Thankfully, she had been run ragged recently, and hardly looked like herself in a purple mad dog hoody with ratty red hair tied back, and in truth wouldn’t even have been let in without M.C. Honey’s escort; and for that, no one recognized her it seemed. In the exclusive club, she watched as the women and one or two men put on shows and hid in her anonymity.

 

While many of them were stripping as a component of what they did… they were also telling jokes, or playing musical instruments. With great talent at that. There were also set pieces… a ten minute psycho-drama in lingerie that blew Kim’s mind for its depth, and even a snappy rendition of “Who’s on First” in sexy baseball attire that stayed on throughout the act.

 

Honey introduced the accidentally disguised Kim to the proprietor. He commented, not knowing her identity, that she looked a lot like that famous heroine, and was in great shape, and of course redheads always attracted an audience, so what could she do that the Master of Ceremonies Honey Drop was so impressed by?

 

Kim chewed her lip hard. She needed money bad by this point, and this place smelled of money. And in truth, she _could_ do _anything_. She wasn’t just a world saving heroine after all… she spoke three languages including old Latin, knew seventeen forms of martial arts, was an award-winning cheer leader and gymnast, and routinely spoke with world leaders and CEO’s.

 

But did she really want to do… this?

 

Kim was noncommittal of what she could do, letting Honey fill in some examples at least, and returned a week later, cleaned up somewhat. She was in her little black dress, which was the only nice outfit she had left with her closet blown to smithereens. She continued to leave out her identity, realizing that others merely thought she “resembled” Kim Possible, not that that actually _was_ who she was. She watched another evening’s worth of shows thanks to M.C. Honey’s offering her a guest pass, plus the owner still considering her for work.

 

The third week, though, she had to earn her own way. Her first two weeks had shown to her the wide variety of acts that the Upperton Down Town, the high end club on the bottom floor of the hotel, offered via its performers. She didn’t want to horn in on any of the other performer’s strengths… but she was also not used to doing anything other than cheerleading or the occasional motivational speech in the way of public performance.

 

Well she could sing too, as American Star Maker had shown… but her voice was deeper than she really liked. And it wasn’t really the voice of a songbird like Brittina, anyway, nor much of a rapper like Honey.

 

Kim was seriously sweating what she was going to do as she stood in the dressing room finishing her makeup. Then one of the other girls asked how she kept herself in such great shape, pointing to her muscular body and faint farmers tan. Kim mentioned something about martial arts, without committing to being a champion hand-to-hand fighter who bet her life on her skills on an almost daily basis.

 

So her first act became a sort of impromptu demonstration of prowess. It was hardly the first time she’d been forced to fight in her little black dress; so it had been reinforced in all the right places for just such an occasion. While there was polite applause and she put as much acrobatic skill into her moves as she could imagine, she came away feeling like she had been… not the most entertaining. Her smattering of applause was more polite than enthusiastic.

 

Still, she made five hundred bucks for her efforts, and they asked her to come back the next week. That five hundred dollars got her three sets of clothes and a new pair of boots for the quickly coming winter.

 

Thus Lynne Vincible was born.

 

She was buoyed up by her feedback the next week. It turned out that people had heard of her incredible antics in a little black dress, and as the proprietor had said, redheads drew a crowd. So the fact that she didn’t strip didn’t matter. She also found that talking a bit about what she was doing helped her audience appreciate her efforts. The occasional quip or joke about what this move or that leap could do to a person, cut with a glib remark about how they would feel it in the morning, left her listeners more enthusiastic for the performance.

 

Her second week her take in tips was two hundred bucks, in addition to the five hundred she got for her act from the Down Town’s standard performer fee. All for just jumping around the stage in her dress for fifteen or so minutes.

 

The third week, “Lynne’s” audience actually started to solidify a bit. Word was getting around about the lovely ginger who could do Olympic quality floor shows while barely breaking a sweat. And while the Upperton Down Town was a fairly exclusive establishment, its acts varied from night to night enough that different audience came to see different things.

 

And “Lynne Vincible” was the only physical artist they currently had on the bill who wasn’t either a ballerina or a pole dancer act; no jugglers, no tumblers, nothing. It turned out she had stumbled, entirely through accident and desperation, onto a wholly unique act. Her occasional whit only helped her charm her patrons.

 

By her fifth week, Kim was bringing in as much in tips as she was in her performance payment from the upscale clientel. More than enough for her to add a little green dress to her little black dress, which was already nearing its end through her constant use of it. She was also able to graciously move out of the hotel and into an apartment of her own, much to the enjoyment of Ron on Christmas Break. She also added a bit more whit and repartee to her demonstrations as her performances evolved, wanting to be more than mere eye candy and also forcing herself to grow out of her shell.

 

Imagine her surprise when she overheard one of the club patrons refer to her as “that Kim Possible look-alike act.” She had never intended to be herself on stage… in fact had actively been avoiding being recognized. The fact that someone thought she was some sort of impersonator struck her strange.

 

Was she really that good at pretending to not be herself?

 

So the next time that she made an appearance, two weeks later, Kim tried something a bit different. She asked the master of ceremonies to introduce her by her stage name, rather than just having it appear on the bill by the door as it had for the last few times. He added “The Incredible” to the front of her play acting name without her even prompting it.

 

She proceeded to imitate herself as she gave her martial arts display in the daring black dress.

 

It went over well enough, even if the redhead felt a bit silly for her routine going awry.

 

Over the next weeks, Kim found a strange thing. Lynne Vincible wasn’t just imitating Kim Possible, she was… parodying her. Kim’s on-stage persona began to metamorphose; she went from a simple martial artist who happened to look like world saving Kim Possible to something that was a bit homage, and a bit roast.

 

And it felt good.

 

The more Kim roasted herself, and some of the truly insane madmen and women she dealt with on a daily basis, the better she actually felt about herself… and about her act. And the better she felt, the more confident she became on stage, as well as in the field. What had started out as her just going through a martial arts display and forcing herself to toss off a joke occasionally to keep the audience happy despite her ill-ease had now changed into her joking around the stage while occasionally high kicking.

 

And the crowd ate it up. Lynne became almost a second personality; a bawdy political commentary on her own too-pure public persona. She was able to say things under the green eyeshadow of Lynne that would explode Kim Possible’s head; give voice and ventilation to her frustrations with the world. Soon she managed to get hold of a purple sequined top that she used with a pair of black pants to imitate her own mission gear, only adding to her lampooning herself.

 

It wasn’t brining in unbelievable amounts of money, but she felt good doing it; a sort of cathartic self deconstruction. So she kept at it even when she had enough money put away that she might have been able to quit the Burlesque to try and find a more normal job along-side her heroing. And surprisingly, with Ron in Japan, and Monique in Milan, no one questioned her disappearing once a night every week or two for her mysterious “me time, a term she used to cover her acts at the Upperton Down Town.

 

Then disaster struck. A particularly nasty fall during her “day job” left her ankle and knee badly bruised and strained. With no Ron as backup while he was busy learning to master his mystical monkey power, she had to serve as her own distraction, and lost focus at a key moment. She missed a week at The Down Town entirely with a walking boot on up to her thigh. Even two weeks later there was no way she was going to put on her usual daring leaping commentary/demonstration.

 

Kim hung around at the club in her ratty hoody as Lynne, watching the other acts. Her savings were running down quickly now that she was relying on herself instead of post-invasion charity. A thousand or so bucks a week was a comfortable living, but it was not a lot to stock up a savings account on for the long term. Not when she was traveling the world most of the time anyway, losing cash to money changers, and eating out six days a week. She quickly found out why Ron was always broke; righteous snackage was righteously expensive. Fortunately Kim Possible’s reputation meant she could often bluff her way out of a fight at this point in her life, and so avoiding aggravating her wounded leg.

 

But Lynne Vincible had no such boons. Her income depended on looking good and satirizing the way the public thought Kim Possible acted, as well as putting on a rather dramatic show herself.

 

Then, a stroke of luck, or perhaps inspiration. She realized that the club had a lot of musical instruments for the various acts. Including a baby grand piano.

 

Nana had forced her for years to take piano lessons when the matriarch was still living in Middleton, in the interests of dissuading her rumbustious granddaughter doing exactly what she did every day jumping out of air planes and fighting crime.

 

Lynne was back on stage after three weeks. With apologies to her usual audience looking for a kung fu commentary, she sat down at the piano and proceeded to sing and play.

 

She got some pity tips, but it was hardly as much as she had been making with her “imitate Kim” routines.

 

Kim studied some of the other girl’s acts some more over the next few weeks. There was no way she could be a pole cat like Veronica Valencia, the club’s other redhead known for her literally orange hair and energetic pole dance and strip routines, not with her ankle still somewhat tender and her raw embarrassment at the idea of undressing for an audience.

 

She wondered… what was it that people who wanted to watch Lynne Vincible acts came to see? The kung fu, or the commentary? The following week Kim added in some of the cutting Lynne flair to her recital. She also added in some stage work. As her ankle got stronger, she became able to do a bit of the pantomime she’d done before her fall.

 

She punctuated her eleventh appearance with a bit of mounting of the piano, picking at the keys as she lay atop it after leaping onto it spectacularly with only a little pain on her part. This seemed to reenergize her patrons and restore the energy of the room.

 

She didn’t realize until later that her dress had ridden up and exposed her bubble butt and black panties to the audience. Thank goodness she hadn’t been wearing anything racier!

 

Still, Kim came to realize that the club’s audience was more sophisticated than she’d been giving them credit for. Some were coming to watch her kung fu commentary, and some liked the pretty redhead who played piano and satirized world events from the stylized point of view of Kim Possible gone awry.

 

And of course almost all of them liked her long legs and round backside. It was burlesque after all.

 

Kim herself became a bit more sophisticated… or at least, a bit more confident. Six months of working at The Upperton Down Town under cover had seen her act metamorphose so much; from a simple demonstration of martial arts, to a biting self-commentary with action accompaniment, to a musical satire piece.

 

The Incredible Lynne Vincible was also becoming a headliner. The Down Town had a clientele of fair regulars, and Kim began to figure out how they could be best entertained by her on those nights every week or two when she appeared on stage. They started to show up to see what act the cunning redhead would put on, and when she would, since Kim didn’t keep a regular schedule at the club owing to her random heroics and also to not wanting to be identified. Several patrons professed to coming in just to see if they could catch sight of the elusive ginger satirist.

 

And Kim-as-Lynne never disappointed, working to earn her keep around the club; learning to alternate the different types of performances she gave with those around her to turn club nights into well rounded ensembles. When Lotus Osiris was doing her beautiful ballet, Lynne counterpointed with an energetic ninja act, putting extra oomph into her physical antics and sometimes dropping commentary entirely to do a musical martial arts extravaganza.

 

On nights when the Shakespeare group were doing their drama pieces and psychopomps, Lynne would juxtapose them with cutting sarcasm on the antics of Kim Possible and the World’s heroes and villains.

 

On nights when Valencia was doing her pole routine, Lynne would contrast it, going with the piano and some suggestive commentary, more philosophical and seductive to contralto the orange girl’s raw sexual punch.

 

And Kim slowly became more comfortable with showing some skin in her acts. What had been accidental panty flashes in her little black dress eventually became semi-planned maneuvers to expose a garter or remove a glove. She found that often the more mundane the act, the better response she could elicit.

 

While other girls would start out in, or strip down to garters and bras, Lynne Vincible could get the same enthusiasm by baring her shoulders or kicking off her heels and wiggling her toes. It gave her a giddy little power trip to know that people lusted to see less skin from her than they did to see Lotus do classical ballet in her white satin undergarments.

 

Though even the redhead admitted she wished she could look so stunning in the white garter belt and stockings as the Asian beauty with that honey skin did.

 

Kim shook her head slightly to herself as “Stick With Me” finally came to a close and the backup band wound down, the lighting on the small stage shifting back to exclusively cover her as her pianist paused a moment before moving to a simple rolling staccato to fill the silence.

 

She was coming to understand how fluid sexuality could be. Men, and even a few women, came here wanting to see her in a full length green satin gown that stayed on when, if they just waited twenty minutes; they could see a woman with a Playpen-caliber body do a strip tease that even left the coy nineteen year old heroine flushed with warmth.

 

“Well, I see some new faces in the crowd tonight,” the performer smiled as she caressed the ebony skin of the piano, languidly picking her remaining opera glove off now, “Anyone from out of town?”

 

A few hands went up and the redhead smiled, picking them out for special attention in her act, “Well, I just flew in from Katmandu… and let me tell you… you haven’t known a bad flight until you’ve shared it with three goats and a horny rooster.”

 

She gave a flick of her hand, and one of her more comedic elements popped out, a spate of feathers that had been hidden inside her glove for just this joke. She got a good laugh from the audience as she fondled the microphone, moving about the stage.

 

Tonight she was definitely imitating herself; while she was wearing the green sequined dress, the eye-catching blue sparkles of a bedazzled kimmunicator on her wrist made it clear that “Lynne Vincible” was lampooning her action-girl double.

 

“But I suppose it could be worse. I hear tell that that creep Motor Ed is hanging around the Lowerton Auto Show.” She sighed to herself, but let the audience see only a coy smirk, “I hear tell he keeps Shell in business, though I’m not sure if it’s lubing his engines, or slicking back that mullet of his.”

 

Lynne walked down into the audience, and casually draped her gloves across a few of the “out of towners” as she went, “But after the last time he was in Middleton, I suppose that most of us would like to just use it to lube his way out of town.”

 

The disguised Kim noticed a little tug on her gloves as she walked by someone, and turned to smile at the innocent interaction.

 

Then she paled.

 

The disguise was good; the hair was bound back in a dark green hair band, the skin was “bottle bronze,” and the lipstick a complementary mocha… but there was no mistaking the electric green eyes behind the square-rimmed ‘sexy librarian’ glasses.

 

Nor the way those eyes grinned at the nineteen year old burlesque entertainer with evil intent.

 

She mouthed “hello Kimmie” at the artiste and released the gloves rather pointedly from between her fingers.

 

Kim licked her lips and tried to regain her composure. She swept on through the crowd with carefully concealed alacrity, cutting her performance short with a couple jokes she kept stored away for those rare occasions when duty called in the middle of an act. She’d intended to give a second song on stage and flash her new garters for the crowd alongside a joke about being tied up and liking it; but if Shego was here, then Lynne Vincible needed to disappear and Kim Possible needed to get the criminal out from amidst all these civilians.

 

By the time she collected her tips, whispered to Christina Stienway to play her off, and carefully made her way to the artist’s viewing area at the edge of the stage, the disguised Shego had managed to vanish from her table.

 

Kim debated prowling the crowd looking for her. No one would mind Lynne Vincible brushing by them in her clingy dress after all. But it would be rude to the other performers to distract from their acts… and the last thing she wanted was Shego to try to pounce her in the middle of a crowd of innocent bystanders.

 

She retreated to the dressing rooms, preparing to shed her outfit and jump back into her hoody disguise, which had become as famous amongst the other performers as her little black dress was with her fans.

 

She was down to her intimates when she heard a low growl.

 

“Landing Strip… you’re right, it’s nowhere near as imaginative as my little flame sculpt…”

 

Between years of cheerleading, and nearly a year of working in The Down Town, Kim was long past demurely and ashamedly trying to cover her body when walked in on. Instead she wheeled on the intruder and struck a fighting stance in her stockings and bra, “Shego!”

 

“I’m surprised there’s no bouncer back here to dissuade ardent admirers… Sloppy place you strip for, Princess.” The verdant villainess tisked.

 

“ _One_ … I need a bouncer? As if…” She glared at the disguised woman as she clenched her fists, “ _Two_ , I’m **not** a stripper.”

 

“Says the chick in the fishnet hose and the Maurice’s of Middleton strapless bra…” Shego rolled her green eyes openly, “Expect me to believe no one was going to see that fancy shit all night?”

 

This time Kim did cast a glance at her slinky underthings self-consciously. Grumbling, she returned her eyes to her counterpart to ensure she hadn’t moved, “What do you want?”

 

“I wanted a show, Pumpkin…” the villainess smirked wickedly, “I’m stuck in town while Drakken works up towards his latest plot. I heard tell of this Kim Possible impersonation act at the local chuckle hut and decided to see it for myself… four nights before I finally caught sight of her, and imagine my shock when it’s Kimmie-Kimtoria… Kim Possible, pretending to be an impersonator, impersonating Kim Possible…”

 

Kim blinked… when Shego put it like that, it all did sound rather insane. Shaking her head hard, she held her stance, watching Shego stand there in her own disguise. “…and?”

 

“Ooooh, the things I could do with this knowledge,” the evil woman grinned and held her hands wide, “Damn I wish they hadn’t checked my camera phone at the door. Kim Possible, America’s Sweetheart, in Fuck-Me stilettos and cum-hither hosiery… I’d make a fortune.”

 

But the redhead beat her to the punch. Her bedazzled Kimmunicator was just that, decorated. Underneath the obnoxious sapphire rhinestones was a fully functional kimmunicator watch, and she snapped a picture of Shego’s disguise with it while the villainess was boasting.

 

“How about ‘Local School Teacher seen at sex club’. Hmmm? How about that… _Miss Go_?”

 

“…and I’d care because?” Shego rolled her eyes and leaned nonchalantly against the door frame. “That was just an alias, remember?”

 

“Yes, but your teaching certificate wasn’t…” Kim smirked, flipping her wrist around to show the picture of the very recognizable ‘Miss Go’ standing in the doorway with a bawdy playbill right behind her. “Imagine what would happen if Wade stuck this on the internet… you worked long and hard for your child development degree I imagine, to see it evaporate over an indiscretion?”

 

Shego tried to school her expression, but couldn’t keep it neutral for long, “Bitch…”

 

“Hey, I’m not responsible for the moral outrage of America…” Kim rolled her eyes, “You forget you saw me here, the photo dies on my wrist…”

 

“Just like your boyfriend’s potential children” Shego snorted derisively.

 

“Watch that… I do the jokes around here,” Kim shot back, arching a crimson eyebrow, “Now, do we have a deal?”

 

“Fine… Keep your very dirty little secret.” The tall woman scowled. Then her expression changed, “Wait, this _isn’t_ a sex club…. Is it?”

 

The redhead rolled her eyes, “Doy? Do I _look_ like a whore? Wait, don’t answer that. No, it’s not, but I know how to play the press… no one would care if it was perfectly legal for you to be here or not, just that you, a molder of the nation’s youth, was. Or remember all those stories about ex strippers who lost their teaching jobs when their old resume got out?”

 

Shego cursed and stomped out the door on that note, her black pencil skirt twisting in a fit.

 

Kim quickly followed, but the sneak-thief had vanished by the time the redhead peeked around the corner of the dressing room. With a sigh, she went back into the room, sitting in the makeup chair and tugging her cargo pants on over her stockings.

 

Lynne Vincible’s night was shot, and Shego was in town. That meant duty called.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I wrote this exactly a year ago, in response to some spit-balling ideas and challenges on the KP Slash Haven. I’ve liked it ever since then, and decided to clean it up a bit and finally share it with the masses. I actually have a bit more material, but not enough to make a second full installment, so please, enjoy this for now, and remember; REVIEWS = LOVE


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